


carrion birds

by finaljoy



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Fantasy, abraham's character is also super important to me don't ask why, but it's mostly and twisted and onesided so here we are, close enough to romance to count, katrina me bae you are amazing and i will make the world understand why, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-23 08:03:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2540408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finaljoy/pseuds/finaljoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katrina stood at Death’s side, to learn his secrets and destroy him from the inside out. Any accusations of her being Death's pet were false. Any questions about her loyalties were to be ignored. She was a fire bird, not a carrion bird, there to burn down the armies of Moloch. But oh, was it sometimes hard to remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. lethal and kind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you here this sound it is the sound of me being trash and giving into my current guilty pleasure and i give absolutely no bothers NOBODY FIGHT ME ON THIS ABRAHAM/KATRINA IS MY UNHEALTHY PASSION AND I WILL EXPOUND ON IT IN EVERY WAY POSSIBLE.
> 
> shout out to twisted psychology and heavy handed overarching metaphors they are my life
> 
> Warnings: general abusive relationship throughout a la psychological manipulation, borderline physical abuse, a gross invitation to indulgence that mocks the power of the invisible hand to foster true quality fics forgive me I am a wreck.

_He will scorch the earth._

When Katrina had said that to Ichabod she had not thought it might be used quite so literally. She also thought she had a chance at being able to contain it. How dreadfully wrong she turned out to be.

Katrina breathed through her mouth, trying not to be sick at the smell of burning flesh and hair and _human._ The Horseman stood before the burning corpses, big and angry and with death wrapped around his limbs.

She closed her eyes, trying not to think about her own experiences with fire. Katrina swallowed, and made herself take a breath to calm down. She nearly vomited.

"Did they hurt you?" he asked, voice low and terrible. Katrina pulled her hand away from her mouth, shocked to hear Abraham's voice. It had not been Abraham who had wielded that axe and thrown screaming men into a pyre, it had been Death and Death alone. She touched the necklace still at her throat and pursed her lips.

She shook her head in response, then realized that he still had his back to her. She swallowed, and then said, "I'm alright."

Men had heard talk of the witch held by Death. They had then thought to deal with her, as all witches ought to be. Katrina had been bound and facing the pyre when Abraham had come for her. She had never been so thankful to see him. Perhaps later, when the hysteria kicked in and the abject disgust in her stomach wore off, she might even find it funny, being saved from death by Death. Then again, he had already proven that she was his to claim.

"Good," he said, turning back to her. Katrina's eyes were caught by the axe still in his hand. Only one of her kidnappers had been slain with it. All of the others had been struck and then cast into the flames. The screams had not lasted long.

He walked toward her and took her arm. Katrina resigned herself to be dragged back to his mount, but he seemed to be simply examining her, holding tight to make sure that she was truly fine. Katrina stared into his face, and then he nodded.

She walked back to his horse, wondering if it was concern or possessiveness that made him hold her so tight.

Katrina expected Abraham to rant about what had happened. She expected a tirade, an explosion, him to loose all of his rage and wreak havoc. But instead he was silent, his anger snarling up in his teeth and making her skin crawl.

She didn't _want_ him to lose control, but she also didn't want to be stuck with the image of him lethal and wicked, skin tearing the air apart as he moved forward and cut men down with a glowing axe. She didn't want to think about how the smell of burning people was on his clothes and the scent of death was probably going to stain both his and her skin for the rest of their days.

His hands were rough as he helped her down from his horse once they had returned to the coach house. Then he was gone, riding off toward the stables. Katrina glanced at the woods. She could run. She could run until the bright, garish impression of flames and ropes over her mouth and terrified men were torn off, ripped away by the dark and the cold and the wind.

Katrina walked inside, feeling numb. She stumbled over area rugs and bumped into furniture, but she didn't pay attention to the dull ache of future bruises. It was almost too dark for her to see, but she managed her way into one of the interior rooms. Katrina sat down heavily, skirts pooling out around her.

The smell of burning hair and skin hit her in the face, making her wretch. Katrina stared down at herself, then tore her dress off, kicking it away so that she was only in her shift. She braced her hands against the side of her head, fingers twisted up in her hair.

Some men had kidnapped her because they thought she was serving the Horseman Death. They had looked at her and thought _witch_ and decided to burn her.

Again.

Katrina froze when she realized that the smell was in her _hair._ She pulled some strands before her face, horror and disgust mixing inside of her until she was on her feet, staggering blindly toward the door. She scrambled back through the house, not even pausing when she saw Abraham entering through the doorway. She shoved past him, thoughts only on getting the smell _off of her._

He grabbed for her, clearly thinking she was trying to escape again. Katrina yanked her hand out of his grip, lurching along the side of the house, desperate to reach the small spigot at the end. Abraham caught hold of her again, trying to bodily pull her back.

" _Let go of me!_ " Katrina practically shrieked, possessed with the idea of getting clean, knowing that she would never be able to rest if she kept that wretched reminder on her skin. "Let me go, _let me go,_ I need the water, I need to get clean!"

She clawed her way out of his arms again, almost falling to the ground when free. She frantically pumped the spigot, barely able to keep hold of it, but then there was water, there was water flowing and she dropped to her knees, not caring about the mud that was caking itself into her shift. She bent her head underneath the spigot, scrubbing her hands through her hair in a hopeless attempt to become clean.

She didn't know when she had started crying but sobs were making her whole body shake. Katrina felt like she was choking but she kept working her hands, even though the water had stopped. Katrina hunched over, mouth pressed into her knees, hands clenched around her hair and the fabric of her shift.

Abraham's boots stopped beside her. She paid them no mind as she fell apart. After a moment, he leaned over and put a hand on her back. Abraham didn't say a word, but he helped her to her feet and guided her back inside.

His clothes smelled of smoke and pain, but she still held on and sobbed into his chest because there really wasn't any one else for her to hold.

* * *

"I have something for you," Abraham said one day, making her turn around. She had been examining one of the cases in the loft, trying to figure out just what the purpose of some of the modern adornments were for.

She waited, wary of whatever he might give her. It might be some cruel trick, but it also might be some misplaced attempt at affection. Either way, she wanted absolutely no part of it.

He smiled at her misgiving expression, and pulled something out of his pocket. Katrina stared at his hand for a long moment, then dragged in a breath.

"A witch's glass," he confirmed, holding it out to her. Katrina found her hands moving toward it without thought, because she hadn't done magic in _so long,_ but then she pulled herself back, unsure what strings came attached.

This seemed to be one of the good days, though, where Abraham was content to try to charm her out of her sulk rather than box her into submission. He held the small glass ball out to her, tempting her closer. Katrina considered, then moved to take the glass from him. Abraham pulled his hand back, saying, "Not quite yet."

She pursed her lips, _knowing_ there had been a catch, and yet irked that she had not waited for it. Katrina followed him down to the main level, trying to guess what he wanted from her. They stopped before the table, and Katrina cast a black look to the chair. She was tired of being tied up.

"You can sit," he told her, voice almost teasing. She looked at him, because she had known this Abraham, the proud, kind man that had strangely possessed some sort of affection toward her, even though their future had been determined by society and convenience only.

She sat down gingerly, eyes on the glass. Abraham held it out again, but before she could reach for it he produced a knife. Katrina hissed in a breath, eyes flying to his face, but he still had that mild, _you'll see_ sort of smile on. As she watched he turned the tip to his own hand and pricked one of the fingers holding the glass. He set down the knife and then switched hands, so that the injured one was above the glass. A drop of thick, black blood fell onto the glass, making the surface turn cloudy for a moment before the blood was absorbed.

"Here," he whispered, finally proffering it to her. Katrina took it tentatively, already feeling the magic hum beneath her palms. She had been wondering how the magic would work. The wards binding her powers would hardly allow for the use of a witch's glass. Apparently, the wards had been cast so that his blood alone could activate magic. Katrina suspected Jeremy was to blame, but she honestly couldn't see her son doing _anyone_ such a flippant favor. Much as it broke her heart, Jeremy was a man of trades and deals.

"Scry anything you want."

"Even if it is Ichabod?" she asked, a slight smile of her own on her lips, because she wanted to know just how honest he was being with her.

Abraham's expression turned a little darker at that, his eyes narrowing and his smile turning thin, but he nodded and said, "Whatever you want."

Katrina held his gaze for a long moment, aching to perform magic, even if it was so slight as to gaze around at the outside world. She looked back at the glass. She considered a moment, and quickly discarded the idea of scrying her husband just to spite Abraham. She was not there to antagonize him, she was there to learn his secrets and make him trust her. And…she was not sure if she would be able to handle looking at Ichabod, free and healthy and so full of life, when she…well, she just was not sure.

Katrina concentrated, closing her eyes until she felt the magic pull itself out of her blood and swirl around inside of the witch's glass. She looked at it and felt a large, gratified smile spread across her features.

Trees. Big, beautiful, tall pines that were broad and so green that she could cry. And underneath them was a warm, dense underbrush, probably filled with animals and flowers and all sorts of beautiful living things, not any of the dead, frozen stuff she was used to seeing here.

Abraham leaned across the table to see the image she had conjured in the glass, expression of bland surprise.

"A forest?" he asked, clearly having expected Ichabod to appear.

"I went there as a little girl," she told him, remembering a warm summer afternoon spent with her family. The memory felt small and strange in the darkness of the coach house.

Abraham leaned back, considering her. "The memory gives you joy."

"It was a good time. I should like to see something like it again."

Abraham met her gaze then, feeling the silent accusation. They both knew that the coming of Moloch would destroy all that was lovely left in the world. He took back the witch's glass, and Katrina felt emptier, the small stream of magic humming through her breaking off and leaving her all alone.

"You just have to ask if you want to use it again," he said. Katrina scowled at him, because she despised the way he said it; casual, like he had the right to contain her nature. But then she made her expression smooth, because she had learned something important. As long as she had Abraham's blood, she could work magic. It was just getting it that would pose a problem.

"Whenever I want?" she asked Abraham, letting her eyes wander back to the glass. Let him think her so incredibly desperate for magic. Granted, she _was,_ but Katrina had learned long ago how to refine that desperation into something wicked and sharp and patient.

"Whenever you want," he promised, and Katrina let herself break into a smile.

* * *

Much as Katrina hated to request _anything_ of Abraham, she found herself asking him for a bed. He had offered her one at first, but Katrina had made the pointed and rather austere decision to sleep on a pallet on the floor. But, she was finally admitting to herself, it was incredibly uncomfortable and she no longer wanted to give the blatant air of defiance.

(And, she admitted to herself and herself only, she was not quite as afraid of what might happen to her on a bed, as Abraham would hardly wait for such a petty qualifier to take what he wanted.)

Abraham considered her for a long moment after the request, then gave a slow nod.

"As you wish. But there is something you must do in return."

Katrina felt her stomach go cold at the words, but her expression stayed the same, an almost haughty resignation as she asked, "What is it?"

"Magic. You need to cast a spell."

"To do what?" she asked, suspicion lacing her voice. "I agreed to stay with you, Abraham, not help bring about end of days."

His smile was like a knife blade, thin and sharp. "Of course. You won't be opening the gate for Moloch, Katrina. There is just a spell that the Horseman War cannot do by himself."

"Like what? Jeremy is a powerful warlock, I'm not sure there is much I can do."

Abraham considered her, probably noticing the way her expression turned from hostile to genuinely curious.

"You will be breaking a seal. The strength of a blood tie is needed to cast the spell," he said, tone a little milder.

Katrina considered, knowing that whether she was flinging open the doors for Moloch himself or just making things easier for his servants, she was still advancing his wicked cause. She felt a little piece of herself be compromised when she nodded in agreement.

Abraham had looked pleased as he showed her the room, a small thing with a large, beautiful window that stared out at the forest. She had thanked him a little less stiffly than she would have liked and sat down on the bed. It was almost sinful how nice it felt underneath her.

Katrina glared out at the moonlight. She made herself not think about what else she would have to give up to ultimately triumph.

Though she hated the fact, her very bones hummed in anticipation of the magic. The scrying had only pricked her attention, pointing out just how much she _needed_ to do more, like eating a morsel of bread after a long fast. But the thought of big magic, powerful magic, magic that needed her power and her son's power and would draw on the energy in their blood and make things _happen,_ it was almost horrid in how much she craved it. Katrina knew that whatever the spell was, it would be terrible, and it would only hurt Ichabod and Abigail Mills' cause, but she had a part to play. That was perhaps why she hated herself so much over it. That and the fact that her magic was being held hostage, and her good intent locked away for other purposes.

She almost hated how well she slept that night. The words _getting comfortable_ chased themselves around her head when she woke up, condemning her more than anyone else had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahahaha i am committing myself to something terrible and i don't know how to stop


	2. stained in the dark

Katrina laid on her new bed, staring at the ceiling because it was either that or start pacing from anticipation, and she would  _not_  hand over the satisfaction that she could be so easily affected. She watched the morning's heavy curtain of clouds break up, chasing Abraham deeper into the house. The light stretched and then shrank back, shifting from her shoes, to her torso, then back to her shoes again. She sat up when it was too dark to clearly make out the individual panels of wood above her. Abraham, the Horseman, would be able to move about soon (she had purposefully left her large window thrown open, because she did  _not_ want to have to deal with him. And maybe, for perhaps a second, she could pretend that she was not being held prisoner, but merely whiling away a particularly tedious fall afternoon, with her loved ones just in the next room).

When Katrina had to go fetch a set of candles to see anything at all, Abraham appeared. She cast him an unimpressed glance when she really wanted to flinch, and set about collecting several candles for her new room. He watched her for a moment, then said, "Katrina. It's time."

She looked at him, then back at the candles. She had guessed it would be soon, but not in merely a  _day._  She set them down, trying not to let her sudden apprehension show. Or the increasing excitement.

If nothing else was to be said about that night, Katrina was just thankful to be out of the coach house. Even if it meant climbing onto Abraham's horse—which she was certain  _hissed_  at her, every time she came near—and letting Abraham wrap his arms around her so that he might steer, Katrina loved the fresh air tossing across her skin, the rush of seeing  _new things_ , and to be able to stand directly under the moon. She was outside, not being ferried from couch house to stable so that she might wash herself or the like. She was outside, and she was going to do  _magic._

Katrina just had to remember that both of those treats relied on the whims of the servants of the Devil. Which, upon surveying the scene laid out for her, was not going to be too hard.

The whole place  _ached_ of dark magic, from the small pits of flames around the small clearing, to the bones carefully arranged in an arc around Jeremy's feet. Katrina's first thought was how much her bones screamed at the thought of  _more fire,_  but she kept her back straight and head high. Then she stared at the bones for a moment, first wondering how Jeremy had gotten them, and then wondering what they were from.

"Hello, Mother," he said, voice as soft and mocking as ever. He was wearing his usual small smile, as if delighting in some wicked joke she would never know. Abraham may have had no head and an axe that glowed red hot, but it was Katrina's own son that truly frightened her. She could never tell what he wanted or would do next, all of his plans hidden behind a wicked smile and a whole arsenal of unsavory tricks.

"Jeremy," she greet, cool, reserved, a lady barely condescending to speak to this man, despite their blood ties. He was helping coerce her into black magic, and she did  _not_ revel in the prospect of using her powers, she was disgusted and angry and proud. Jeremy's smile widened just a touch, and Katrina remembered too late that he could sense lies, and almost all of her thoughts had just been false. How damnably annoying.

 _I'm proud to see what you've become,_  she flung at him, and Jeremy's self-satisfied smirk dropped. Katrina didn't care why (she had no illusion about him and his regard for her opinions), but she did give her own darkly triumphant smirk.

"Come, we must perform the spell quickly," he said, suddenly terse. Katrina didn't move.

"What is it?"

"Thinking of countermanding the spell?"

"I want to know exactly what it is I am doing. Abraham mentioned breaking a seal, but—"

"Do not cause a stir now," Abraham warned behind her, but she set her jaw and glared at her son.

"I  _need_  to know what kind of spell I am to be doing. I do not have the intense gift you have, my son, I need to know what I am expected to do."

"Blood magic," he told her. "Nothing special, most of the ritual is already laid out. You just need to read from the book."

"…Very well," she said, examining the bones on the grass. She very much hoped whatever she was releasing wasn't about to destroy the Witnesses.

Jeremy handed her a large book, open to a spread written in Greek. She couldn't tell what the dialogue said, but she could read the spell. A cursory glance told her it was not a monster they were freeing, but she didn't feel very reassured.

"Hand out," Jeremy told her, roughly taking her wrist. Katrina barely had a moment to register the black leather gloves he was wearing before he was pricking her palm with a knife tip. She gasped and tried to pull away, but he held on until he had pressed a small bundle of plants into her hand. She smelled rosemary and identified the gritty, wide leaves of rhododendron, but before she could look closer, Jeremy pulled off his glove and pricked his own palm. Katrina stared at him as he clasped another small bundle of plants, seeming to take a tiny moment of preparation before he reached out and grabbed her hand. It was aggressive, impersonal, and brisk, probably due to the fact that all of her sins were rushing to make themselves known to him and he wanted as little of it as possible, but all she could think was that this was the first time she had held her son's hand.

If Katrina held on a little tighter, Jeremy did not respond and she would never say.

Katrina held the book in her free hand, listening to sound of Jeremy begin the incantation.

_"By the darkest pits thou wast able,_

_O black brand, carved upon this earth's bone…"_

The words slithered over her ears, rising against her skin and making her skin crawl. She glanced at Abraham, who was standing a ways back, stoic and terrible. Katrina swallowed and looked back at the book, the words dragging themselves out before she had even read the first line.

_"As we stand, blood born and new,_

_Break to us, as ty proper place demands._

_Yield, seal of the wicked…"_

The magic was palpable now, drowning out everything not a part of it. The fire snarled and snapped, the bones at her feet groaned and gave up their secrets, the blood dripping from Jeremy's hand slid down her fingers and begged for more, for all of the power she had left.

Katrina closed her eyes, feeling the magic draw out her power, using it up and giving nothing back. They were both chanting now, voices distorted and stretched by the magic. She understood why Jeremy hadn't attempted this alone. Even with his own power supplementing things, she thought her legs might give way.

_"For we so claim the right to reign,_

_And unto us, be done!"_

The torched hissed out for a moment, the howled back to life. Jeremy dropped Katrina's hand and she staggered back at the magical recoil, panting slightly. Far away, she could feel their spell taking affect. She chewed on her cheek, and wished Ichabod and his allies well.

"And that's it? It is now free?" Abraham asked, starting forward. Katrina glanced back, having forgotten him in the haze of magic.

"Yes, it's now free for you to claim," Jeremy said, that hard, derisive edge returning to his voice. Katrina wished she could smooth it away.

Abraham nodded, and Katrina edged away from her son, sensing that she no longer had the right to be there. She was supposed to return to Abraham, so that he might once again hide her away.

His horse shrieked out a whiny, and instantly Abraham had the rifle in his hands. He swung around to face Abbie Mills, who had seemingly materialized from the surrounding trees. She was holding a gun of her own, and quickly fired off two shots into Abraham's chest, and though his body jerked, he still took aim and returned fire.

Katrina clapped her hands over her ears and ducked away, trampling over the remains of the spell, which was now just some torches and grave desecration. She ran to the trees, and threw herself down into a shallow ditch to avoid any errant bullets.

More gunshots were in the air, but this time from the other side of the clearing. She turned to see another woman wielding a gun as she reached the tree line, favoring Miss Mills in the eyes and the harsh, defiant set of her shoulders. She was firing rapidly at Jeremy, probably to keep him from casting a spell. Katrina's heart leaped into her throat as he dived to the side, a tear of blood on his sweater sleeve.

Abraham was advancing on Abbie, expression feral. She was steadily retreating, her own expression turning tight.

"Hey, Jenny, a little help here," she called, and the other woman turned her gun toward Abraham. He didn't turn around when she shot him in the back.

"Katrina!" Ichabod hissed, diving down to find cover beside her. He had that same desperate expression as before, and he looked like he hadn't slept in quite some time.

"Katrina, what has happened? Why're you here?"

"I-Ichabod, I helped them perform a spell, and—"

"Can you undo it, counteract it in anyway? Katrina it is imperative!"

"I—no, I barely knew what the first spell was for!" she said. They both jumped when a throwing axe thudded into a tree near them, both terrified that Abraham had caught sight of them, but a quick look told Katrina that he was still occupied with the Mills sisters.

"Consecrated bullets, Jenny. Consecrated bullets!  _Switch bullets_!" Abbie yelled, true panic in her eyes as she scrambled backward on the ground. She rolled out of the way just as Abraham brought is axe down, tearing a burning chunk from the ground.

Jenny switched something in her gun, then fired again. This time, Abraham gasped, the arm that had taken the bullet dropping to his side.

Katrina turned back to Ichabod when she felt him grab her shoulder, realizing that he had been speaking to her the whole time.

"Ichabod, you need to leave here," she hissed, slicing over him. "The spell was to break a seal—"

"On the legion's blood, I know. That is why we're here, it's the only thing that can stop the Kindred—"

"The what?"

"A monster that matches the Horsemen, blow for blow. Without it—"

"Then you must get there first!" she gasped. "It was released perhaps two miles away, over there," she said, pointing in the direction she had felt the magic take hold. Ichabod glanced over his shoulder, then returned to staring at her.

"They were speaking of retrieving something, after they had it, is it also a guardian?"

"No, the only thing—oh  _no_ ," he breathed, face going pale. "The head. It has the Horseman's head!"

"Then you  _must_  find the legion's blood before they do!" Katrina said, squeezing his hands. She didn't remember him reaching out to hold her, but his hands were around hers and they felt sturdy and decent. "Ichabod, the end of days will come when he regains his head! Stop him, anyway you can."

"Alright, Katrina, I swear to you, we will, and then you can—"

"Ichabod, you must leave," she said, pushing herself up off the ground. She turned to face the battle, just in time to see Jenny, hurrying to fix her gun, while Abraham hoisted his axe back above his head.

"Ichabod!" Katrina gasped, and instantly he saw it, shouting,  _"Jenny!"_ The woman dived away at his warning, her gun clicking into place as Abraham torn a burning swathe out of the air. She landed with a roll, turning to land two shots of consecrated bullets into Abraham's chest. His growl of pain made Katrina shudder, because it was  _feral_ _,_  the sound of wrath mixing up inside of him and promising something horrible and unpredictable.

"Ichabod, this is madness!" Katrina said, whirling back to face him. "Go find the legion's blood, quickly, before any of you die!"

"But—"

" _Leave!_ " she yelled, condemning herself as she walked toward Death. She heard him call to the Mills', and within moments and a last burst of gunfire, they were gone.

Abraham's eyes were wild when he looked at her, ferocious and almost inhuman. She knew he had seen Ichabod leave that same cluster of trees as she had, and steeled herself for the connection made in Abraham's eyes. She felt his anger tear over her skin, but she kept her head down, meekly returning to his side. Abraham snarled as he tore out one of the bullets lodged in his arm and threw it aside. His arm remained limp, though. If she ever got a chance, she would be sure to inform the Witnesses of just how effective consecrated weapons were. Still, some strange part of her wanted to ask if he was alright, but Katrina wasn't sure if it was an honest question or a mockery, and Abraham was clearly in no state to be jested with. So instead, she stole a glance at him and asked, "Where is Jeremy?"

"Collecting the legion's blood. After you friends appeared, he thought it wise to complete our goal."

Katrina nodded, and looked back toward the remnants of the spell. Her skin crawled at the memory of how  _good_  the magic had felt, even though it had been black, black,  _black._

They didn't say anything as he helped her onto his horse, and they returned to the coach house. The ride back didn't feel half so luxurious as the initial one, more a brittle precursor to something terrible. Abraham's mood had soured, probably because of the sudden potency of the Mills' weapons against him. When he helped her off his horse, Katrina noticed that the arm that had been shot still remained fairly useless, only a portion of its mobility recovered. Katrina went inside while he stabled his horse, and allowed herself a few breaths, because she knew she only had a few more seconds of precious peace. Sure enough, when Abraham came inside, that calm neatly broke.

"What did you tell him?" Abraham asked, voice flinty. She looked back at him, too tired to bother with the proud, defiant act.

"I told Ichabod to leave. Whatever he was hoping to accomplish, it was foolhardy and ill-advised."

"You don't think your precious Witness will be able to hold up against the forces of Moloch?" There was a sharp edge in his voice, something of mirthless mockery. Katrina cast him a flat look.

"No, I have faith he and Miss Mills both will triumph. But attempting to settle some sort of  _dispute of honor_ with the Horseman of Death…it is madness. I want him to live, after all."

Abraham gave her a long look, which she hated. It was like he cut through her, and saw all of the little things she didn't want to think about.

"You have decided to stay twice, and yet you actively side against my work, and counsel my enemies. What are you planning?"

"It is possible to care for people in more than one way," she responded, not minding the jagged edge to her words. "And wishing for the survival of the world is born from a basic love  _of_  the world. The apocalypse would not suit me, I think. And don't go laying insinuations into my words, just to keep yourself  _entertained_."

"I cannot have you undermine me at every turn!" Abraham suddenly shouted, making Katrina jump. She snapped her eyes back to him, feeling fear, yes, but also feeling  _anger._

"Who are you to speak to me like I am some sort of wayward  _pet,_  a hunting hound that has served you ill? I am  _not_  your possession, Abraham, I will do as I please, and however that falls, it isn't any of your business to interfere!"

He stalked toward her, quick and furious and suddenly far, far too close. Katrina couldn't help it, she leaned back and grabbed the back of a chair to brace herself, but she was not cowering, she was digging her feet in and saying she would  _not_  be moved.

"You are here because of  _me,_ you were  _saved_  from the fires of Perdition because of  _my request,_  so do not act like you owe no obligation. You, Katrina, are here through my will, and will therefore be subject to whatever it is I aim for! As long as you are here—"

"Then perhaps I should leave," she hissed, voice low and vicious and just as terrible as his. Abraham stared at her, wild indignation traded for shock and then proper rage. He narrowed his eyes at her, and for a moment Katrina thought that she had gone too far, that she had pressed what little luck she had and was now going to pay for it. Abraham already had the fuel of anger in his eyes, and she doubted he  _really_  needed her sparks to set him into an inferno.

She clenched her teeth, waiting for him to strike her, or grab her, to snarl her hair up in his hand and show that she truly held no power here. But instead he turned on his heel, stalking deeper into the house. Katrina waited until she couldn't feel his footsteps in her bones before she slumped back, nearly collapsing onto the chair behind her.

It wasn't acceptance, or even defeat that had made Abraham turn around. It was a flat, horrible understanding that if he had to stand there a moment longer and let her drag him into confrontation, then he would do something terrible and she might break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As taken as I am with the dynamic between Katrina and Abraham, the whole thing between Katrina and Henry is soooooo important to me. With Abraham, there's a lot of push and pull, sometimes physical, sometimes psychological. But with Henry, it's more the two of them butting up against each other and refusing to move an inch. I reeeeeeally hope there's more development with them, because as much fun as it is to make things up, having things confirmed is _awesome._


	3. oh how you lock me away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops this is late hm.
> 
> Obviously, this is a canon divergence at best, but here a few important things to keep in mind for the story: The timeline in regards to the time of year is different. I only just realized that in the show, they are currently in the middle of January at best, so I am radically bumping them back to about middle of October, because I need me some snow imagery in the future.
> 
> Also, my interpretation of the Horseman is a little different from what has been established in the show (because they just looooove to wreck my dearest headcanons). For the purposes of the story, I figure that because he has lost his soul, he has also lost his humanity, so he doesn't function in terms relating to empathy or the like. He is out for what he wants and he will take it in the ways he wants, though that in no way means he does not fully consider the repercussions of his actions. There is also a schism between the Abraham mentality and the Horseman mentality, for reasons that do not fit here.

Katrina sat at the table, wanting to read the novel before her, but unable to settle on anything. She could no longer imagine how she had filled her days before. The hours were the same, she knew this, but now they dragged  _on,_  making her teeth stand on edge. Even in Purgatory, she had spent her time more successfully than  _here,_  where she tiptoed and chose her battles and tried to think of a plan.

The nights were always the worst. At least during the day, she had the sun to chart how much time had passed, proof she was headed toward something. But now, at night, she was suspended in a void that was only teased way by tedium and nightmares.

Abraham had left some time earlier, though Katrina refused to think of just what he was doing. She already had trouble chasing the monstrous effects of his murders from his head, soaked in blood and fire as they were. She tried not to let it show, just how much they bothered her, but at night she found the scenes playing against her eyelids, the screams of burning men and the frantic terror of Jenny Mills as she felt Abraham prepare to kill her. And that was not even  _mentioning_  her argument with him, where he had been big and terrible and so close to truly making her suffer. Katrina had never forgotten he was Death, but she had also never expected his wrath to be used on her.

Most often, now, she could not find sleep. Instead, she sat with her back against the headboard and her arms around her legs and her heart  _wishing_  she had gone with Ichabod. That was the only time she allowed herself to dwell on could-have-beens, especially when connected to her husband. Otherwise, everything was shut away in a neat little box, and then thrown under the bed, because wanting hurt and wanting caused trouble. And she couldn't be an effective spy if her head was stuck somewhere else.

Katrina plucked at the manacles around one wrist. They were her step up from being fully bound to a chair, a reward for continual, if sometimes contrary, good behavior. The chain was fastened to the wall, and allowed her some deal of mobility. She still despised the fact that she was being bound like an animal, and that she hadn't yet managed to win Abraham's trust entirely. Arrogant and almost blindly opinionated as he was, though, he was no fool. He could sense a ruse, even if his own desires hid all but the edges of it.

Katrina leaned back in her chair, sighing and looking at the dark window. She wasn't sure, but the feeling in her stomach was strangely similar to loneliness.

The dull thrumming of hoof beats sounded outside, and Katrina straightened in her seat. Abraham's approach still sent a thrill of anxiety through her stomach. She was facing the window, so she could see the flick of his pale mount, and then they were both gone. She waited for him to come in, hopeful for a distraction, but not ready for  _him._

A few moments later, his heavy footsteps echoed through her chest. She listened to him come closer, eyes on her hands. He stopped in the doorway, yet both of them remained silent, waiting for the other person's first move. Abraham walked closer, stopping just behind her. She held her breath as he silently undid the manacle, not reacting to the way he almost tenderly brushed his fingers over her wrist. Then he pushed her hair over her shoulder, tracing his fingers along her neck. Katrina bit her cheek and shuddered as he paused over her spine, then froze as he lifted the chain of the necklace, and carefully undid it.

Katrina looked up at that, then turned slowly to face him. She had tried to take off the necklace  _so_ many times, but only he could remove it. And he wouldn't do that, not when he wanted to deceive her so sweetly. Had the spell taken permanent hold on her, transferring from the necklace to her skin? Or had it simply worn off, requiring a replacement?

Katrina looked at him, and felt her breath catch. He was looking back at her. He had his eyes on her face, even though the necklace was no longer about her neck. He had a head.

He didn't look the same, though. The wear on his clothes was back, as well as a trace of blood on his collar. And his hair was cropped short, barely even there.

He had a  _head._

Katrina blinked in surprise, realizing what had happened but hearing her thoughts chase themselves in a tight, disbelieving circle. His head. He had reclaimed his head. That was where he had been, using the legion's blood she had helped release to retrieve it from the Kindred. It had taken a few days, but he had destroyed Ichabod's most valuable asset.

Katrina swallowed, begging herself not to let any of the dread in her bones reach her face. Abraham was watching her closely, waiting for any telltale flickers of emotion. This was a test, this was a test, she  _could not_  let herself fail, she could not she could not she could  _not._

Katrina raised a hand and touched his jaw. She had to be sure, she had to know it was a trick before she made another move, she had to be certain. Of course, it was only flesh and blood beneath her fingertips, cool yet all too solid. She pulled back in both shock and horror, then steeled herself and brushed her knuckles against his skin.

It was a soft gesture, one that made Abraham tilt his head toward her, ever so slightly. He closed his eyes for the barest moment, like he wasn't sure what was happening, but he would indulge in it none the less.

She pulled her hand back, suddenly afraid of what she was doing, afraid of where she might end up if she continued down this path. Abraham in turn straightened, and she realized just how much he had leaned toward her. Katrina dropped her eyes, and after a moment, he left the room.

Katrina turned back to face the window, and wrapped her arms around herself.

* * *

Jeremy stopped by the coach house the next day. Katrina had decided to forgo the creeping and sneaking of before, and simply did not move when they began their conversation in the next room. She had done magic for them, she had refused to run away twice, and she was laying at their feet. She would sit and listen to what she pleased.

For their part, they seemed wholly content to ignore her. Perhaps it was because they weren't saying anything of report, just names passed back and forth, a brief update on Abraham's men, and the mention of something not working, but they talked away like she wasn't there. Katrina honestly didn't mind and kept her eyes on her needlework, but she could feel Jeremy's gaze wander to her, darkly amused at image of her domestication. Sure enough, when he passed through the sitting room to leave, he stopped beside her.

"Settling in fine, then?"

"As well as could be hoped," she answered, glaring at her work. "But of course, things tend to go a little better when one is not coerced into dark magic."

She looked up at Jeremy then, giving a sweet little smile. He didn't seem at all bothered by the poison in her voice.

"But you reveled in it, all the same." It wasn't a question, it wasn't a guess, it was a blunt statement because he had held her hand and felt the way her blood had  _sang._

"Perhaps the way one revels in a dry crust of bread, after being starved."

Jeremy gave a dark chuckle and walked to the door. Katrina stared after him, feeling the way her glare fell and turned into something sad and a little regretful. She didn't know how to feel about him. Sometimes she wanted to lay down and weep because  _this_  was never what she had intended for her son, but then at others she wanted to spit because he  _delighted_  in this wickedness in a way no person had a right to.

Katrina looked away from the door, and jumped when she saw Abraham leaning in the doorway.

"Abraham," she said, the word falling out before she realized she had nothing else to say. They watched each other for a long moment, and the longer Abraham looked at her, but Katrina wanted to fidget. She could feel something coiling around his teeth, begging to be loosed.

"Did you need something?" she asked, thankful her voice did not shake. He tilted his head, and gave a flat, razor blade smile.

"No," he said, and turned away.

Katrina stared after him, not liking the sinking feeling in her stomach.

* * *

Katrina rested her head against the window pane, trying not to look unhappy. It was a fine line, unhappiness and boredom, and she wanted to strike the right chord. When she sighed, she practically  _felt_  Abraham clench his jaw.

"What is it, Katrina?" he asked, clearly trying not to sound irked himself.

"Nothing, I just—" She pursed her lips, and looked at him through the window's reflection. "I was just wondering…would we be able to go out?"

Abraham stared at her, not understanding. Katrina turned around to face him, expression almost sweet.

"I've been within this coach house for what feels like  _weeks_ , now. I know every brick and spider web, and I swear I might go mad if I have to count the wood panels again," she said, praying that he would accept light natured teasing better than petulance. "Could I…could we perhaps leave, explore the grounds? I want to be able to stretch my legs more than these rooms allow."

His expression was still stern, but then he asked, "To what end?"

Katrina offered an honest smile, and said, "To the end of seeing something other than the inside of this building."

She said it with an extraordinary smile, and sure enough, the next day found her standing outside the coach house, a lit lantern in hand. Abraham was by her side, quietly watching her. It was twilight, the sky still just light enough for her to see without the lantern, but it wouldn't last long.

"What would you like to see?" Abraham asked, and Katrina shrugged.

"I truly do not care. We could walk in a  _circle,_  and I would be happy."

Abraham gave a smile at that, and it truly shocked her. He had smiled before as Death, but this time it wasn't so much the consolidation of anger, spite, or bitterness she was accustomed to seeing. He was just amused by her. It reminded Katrina of how he had been as a man, tall and honest and so very open with how he had felt. Not the silent oppressive figure she had learned to ease around.

Katrina smiled in return and ducked her head, hoping the action would come off as humble thanks, rather than nostalgic regret.

Abraham offered his arm, and for a moment, she could pretend things were fine. They were taking a turn about the grounds. He was not her captor, she was not aggressively trying to thwart him, she was not a witch, he was not a Horseman. Then she heard his horse nicker, whispering dark secrets to him, felt the brand on the back of his hand, saw the blood on his collar, and tasted the dry bitterness of being without magic for so, so long.

Katrina reminded herself that pretending and forgetting had a time and a place, and that this was not it.

"So, I have noticed that the end of days has not yet come to pass," she said, tone almost breezy as they began to walk. Abraham gave a long sigh through his nose, as if he didn't want to discuss such a topic with her, but was resigning himself to it anyway. His voice was almost steely when he answered.

"Have you?"

"Yes. After you had retrieved your head, I figured that ushering in the remaining two Horseman would be top on your list."

"I stand as a marker, not a guide to the others," Abraham said, voice flat. "They will find their way if capable. War has."

"But Jeremy was already here," she said, casting her eyes over the skeletal trees ringing the trail. "Conquest attempted passage, but that was a thin plan."

"It nearly worked."

"But didn't without your help."

"It almost sounds like you  _want_  the end of days to come," Abraham said, a thin smile on his lips. Katrina didn't miss the way he sounded pleased. It wasn't so much over her apparent change of heart, but at the perceive compliment.

"I don't, you know that, but it's also something I would like to be prepared for."

"You can't be," he said, not looking at her. "No mortal can stand in the face of the apocalypse and hope to survive. Witch or no, you will succumb." He turned to look at her, expression hard. Katrina stared back at him, swallowing. He wasn't talking about her giving in to him and becoming the immortal mistress of a dead world, at least, not entirely. There were the hints of an absolute end in his voice, an obliteration that could come from Moloch alone. She would be destroyed if she did not heed his request, not in punishment, not out of spite, but just because that was how everything else would go.

Katrina looked back at the trail before her, trying not to think about how much utter destruction absolutely terrified her.

They were quiet for a long moment, the subtle sounds of her lantern creaking and their footsteps falling flat in the air. It was getting dark enough that Katrina had to squint to look wherever her lantern wasn't pointed.

"Why would you allow hesitation in your plans?" Katrina asked eventually, voice soft. Abraham looked at her, then turned his eyes back to the trail. When he didn't respond, Katrina pushed a little more.

"You're not a man of hesitation. It makes no sense, now that you have your head, the end can begin. Yet it has been  _days,_  and still nothing. Why…"

Katrina's eyes wandered from his steely profile to the back of his head, where the mark of the hessians was carved into his skin. It was not as stark as it had once been, turning more from a tattoo to a scar, but she could  _feel_  all of its dark implications. And then a thought came to her, making Katrina stop where she was. Abraham turned to face her, jaw set.

"Unless, you  _can't_  summon them," Katrina whispered. Abraham's expression didn't change, but she could _feel_  the icy anger inside him.

"You can't summon them," she repeated, stomach dropping away from sheer shock. "Your head, it has been sealed in some manner, binding your powers."

Abraham cast her a sideways look, sulky anger flaring up and then being pressed back in an instant. Katrina stared at him, fighting to keep herself in check, even as a burst of pride at Ichabod and Abbie spiked in her chest. They had devised a way to stop Abraham from gaining his whole powers as Death. Katrina wanted to sing and get on her knees and  _thank God_  for giving them this immense victory, but instead hid all of her relief and amazement and delight and made herself look down at the path before her.

She stared at the pool of thin yellow light cast from her lantern. Her breath puffed out before her, and goose flesh raised on her arms, but Katrina didn't know if it was from the cold or the growing dread from Abraham's silence. She could feel him thinking, churning the facts and the options over in his mind, but she could no longer tell what way his thoughts went. Katrina didn't know if it was because of the time apart, or because his mind was now a contorted contraption of Moloch's, but she had lost the ability to predict how he was going to react, at least without any obvious clues from him. Still, she had to pursue the matter, had to find answers that she might be able to use.

"Jeremy can't break whatever's binding you, can he? That's why he came over last time, to see what was wrong."

"Yes," Abraham admitted, like pulling caterpillars from a garden, quick and without any feeling. Katrina nodded, unsure how to proceed. After a moment, she asked, "So where does that leave your plans?

"Unhindered. There are still ways to usher in the end of days."

"It wasn't a challenge," she remarked, trying to ignore the pit that had formed in her stomach. "I simply—I was concerned. I expected there would be other ways, yes, but if you are unable to begin your task..." Katrina didn't say  _what should happen to you?_ , but it hung heavy in the air regardless.

"There are other ways I may serve. Guiding the other Horsemen is but the most direct path. The others simply wander more."

"So more destruction before the final destruction," Katrina asked, unable to keep the mockery from her voice. Still, she felt a wriggle of concern, because they  _had_  stalled the end, but at what cost? What was the plan that Abraham had been speaking of, the one that would cause so much more destruction? Katrina chewed her lip, thinking. She had come quite a way to make Abraham trust her. He was noticeably more forth coming to her, which was something.

But it wasn't information he was neatly pouring at her feet. It was anger, thick and heavy, and enough to make her breath catch. Abraham trusted her enough to stay without constant charm and flattery, trusted her with the honest nature of his feelings. That should have been a good thing, it  _was_  a good thing, it was progress. But it also made her guilty, because she had inadvertently caused this. And it made her scared, because she wasn't sure just how deep or powerful that anger would go.

If he found out the lie she was so sweetly weaving around his skin…

Katrina closed her eyes. She needed to be more careful. Or maybe not lie.

They continued walking, Katrina studiously fixing her gaze on the coach house, while Abraham watched her, silently asking if hindering the end was really worth it.

That next day, when she ate dinner, Abraham watched. He was dressed down, his coat hanging in the other room, and his collar allowed to hang open. Katrina made herself focus on his face and not the dark, ugly scar ringing his neck.

She looked back at her plate, quietly speaking a thick slice of cheese.

"You don't have to stand," she told him. Abraham was still for a moment, then settled into a chair across from her. It felt like he was on the verge of springing up at any moment.

They were silent for a long while, then Abraham spoke.

"Doesn't it tire you?"

Katrina looked at him, confused. He tilted his head, seeming to consider her.

"This clinging to life. Is it not tedious, the constant battle against illness, the  _hoarding_  of food? Continually having to sleep and knowing that any moment may bring catastrophic injury, what value do you see in it?"

Katrina set down her fork, considering him. Instantly, a series of sharp retorts about being uninterested in being suspended between life and death caught her tongue, but she held herself back.

"Has it really been so long since you too were alive, that you have forgotten the joys in it?"

"I recall that these  _joys_  were far too few to be counted as reasonable reward."

"Life is not about the  _tangible,_ " she remarked, running her finger around the rim of her cup. "Ideally, one takes pleasure in these nuisances called eating and sleeping and maintaining one's body. Does it  _truly_ seem so pathetic from where you stand?"

"It seems unnecessary."

Katrina considered him for a moment, wondering if he even  _could_  eat or sleep. She had only ever seen him on his feet, in battle or waiting for the next one, and she had been there for  _weeks._

"So you disregard the chances for pleasure, because it seems unnecessary. Surely that is no way to live."

He tilted his head, halfway to a concession, and suddenly Katrina wanted to ask him where he found his pleasure. Did he even  _have_  pleasure, did he remember what it looked like, how it tasted? Or was his joy found only in blood and the last breaths of scared men?

Katrina dropped her eyes, staring at her glass. The air was flat for a few long moments, then Katrina cleared her throat.

"Abraham…would I be able to…could I scry again?" she asked, just shy enough to make him smile.

"Of course."

"Tomorrow, if it's all the same to you. I'm feeling rather tired tonight."

"If you wish," he said, nodding his head at her. And again, that ragged, cold edge was gone, and he was just Abraham again, flattering and kind.

Katrina smiled at him, because she missed  _Abraham_ , the man that had aided Washington, helped fund the resistance, and risked his life for his beliefs. She missed the man he had been, not his face. They had been friends, and now…

Now it was like looking at a cruel painting, a causal mockery of the man she had once known.

* * *

Katrina stared at the witch's glass, forcing herself to scry the mountains, the face of the one of the children she had tended after, the bright, white masts of ships at harbor. Anything that was not her husband, anything not useful. Abraham no longer chose to hang over her, but she had the distinct impression that he would know the moment she attempted to defy him.

Finally, Katrina set down the glass. She didn't want to boy with the possibility of betraying herself and her goal.

She sat back in her chair, casting her gaze around. She was suddenly gripped with the urge to fling open the shutters and soak up the sunshine she was no longer allowed to touch. It was weak, already turning orange and pink and a thousand other colors in preparation for night, but it was more than she was normally allowed. She closed her eyes, remember times that had before been bland and tedious, but now seemed so desirable because of the  _day_  washing around her. Morning spent with friends, afternoons with Ichabod, where they sometimes discussed serious matters, and others when they took quiet walks, drinking in the grasshoppers and fluffy bit of cotton in the air.

Abraham's footsteps sounded in the hall, but Katrina continued to watch the shuttered window. The slivers of sky beyond were a tired blue, fading fast into navy.

"Are you finished?"

"Oh, yes, thank you," she said, jarred by the sound of something other than the birds and her thoughts. She turned to face him, hoping that the pining on her face wasn't  _too_  obvious. "I supposed I've just gone from one form of day dreaming to another."

She gave him a soft smile, and then looked down at her hands. Abraham came closer, and set his hand on the glass.

"Oh, Abraham…could—could I keep the witch's glass? In my room? I mean, I have so few things, and I…it's one of the very few things I have any connection to."  
Abraham considered her for a moment, then took her hand. He carefully placed the glass in her palm, his fingers lingering on her skin.

"Thank you," she said, drinking in the residual hum of magic from the glass. Abraham gave her a smile, and something jolted in Katrina, because it all felt so  _false_ , but also horribly real. Katrina smiled again out of reflex, and then looked back at her hands. Abraham was still holding one. She watched it for a long moment, then settled her free hand over the surly burn of a bow and arrow on his flesh.

They were silent for a long stretch, and then Abraham pulled her hand away, raising it up toward him. She held her breath, unsure what he was going to do. Some part of her wondered if he would kiss the back of her hand, but then he turned it over, and pressed his lips into her palm. A shiver went through her, because it felt wrongly intimate, a strange, precious gift that he would allow no one else, placed literally in her hand. Katrina swallowed, tried to stay calm, tried not to think about how  _long_ he had wanted to do that, how difficult it had been to bide his time until this very moment.

When she didn't pull away, Abraham kissed her wrist, his breath tracing down her veins. Katrina closed her eyes, then moved her hand back, ever to slightly. Abraham tilted his head up to look at her, his lips pulling away from her skin. Katrina looked at him, meeting his almost wounded uncertainty with a look far steadier than she felt. He seemed to realize that her hand was still extended before him, and that the movement was not a refusal, but a lure.

Abraham leaned down and kissed her, once, on the jaw. She clenched the hand holding the witch's glass as she felt his breath again, this time trailing through her hair and over her neck. He let go of her wrist, and then it was on her shoulder, caught somewhere between making sure she was real and making sure she didn't leave.

Sudden thrills of anxiety went through her, because she didn't know if she had gone too far, if she had led him to a path she was nowhere near ready for. But then they both heard a whinny, and Abraham pulled away from her. He glanced in the direction of the sound, then turned back to her. They watched each other for a long moment, Katrina unable to read his expression, or even guess what hers looked like, but then his horse whinnied again. It wasn't a strained warning sound like she had heard in his fight with Ichabod and his allies, but an almost nagging sort of reminder, like Abraham needed to go somewhere, and should have already left. He let out a sigh through his nose, and let her go.

"When will you be back?" Katrina found herself saying, the words stumbling out because she  _needed_  to hear something other than the high ringing of condemnation in her ears.

He offered what she supposed was a smirk, and merely said, "Before sunrise," then left the room.

Katrina waited for a few moments after the sound of hoof beats had disappeared before she pushed herself up from her chair, and scrambled for a piece of paper and pen. It was the first time she had been left unbound when he went out, and she fully intended to use it for good.

Within moments, she was dipping a pen into a small well of ink she had made, if this exact occasion arose. She scribbled down as much as she had learned, namely the facts involving the seal on Abraham, and a few other scraps about the movements of the hessians. Then she was at the window,  _willing_  one of the nearby birds to brace Jeremy's wards and deliver her message. Soon enough, she was strapping the note to a crow's leg, and then was setting it free again.

She leaned back against the wall, panting slightly from the sudden flurry of movement, but then it was all catching up to her, just what she had begun in the last few minutes. The triumphant smile on her face fell, replaced by something tight and vaguely sickened.

Katrina carefully stripped down to just her shift, and walked out to the water pump. Her last visit there stabbed at her as she got the water going, the taste of disgust and panic and fear, the acrid smell of agony staining everything around her. Katrina grit her teeth, and scrubbed at her skin and hair. She even leaned down and drank straight from the pump, because there was something coating her tongue and she needed to get rid of it.

He was Death. She had let  _Death_  press his lips to her skin, because those were the tools she had left.

Katrina wrung out her hair, and carefully walked back inside. She collected her clothes, draped them over a chair, and curled up in bed, even though her shift and hair were still damp.

A part of her was shrinking back from the memory of Abraham's touch, but another part was shrinking back because the first thing her mind had whispered was  _use this_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS IT THIS IS THE BEGINNING THIS IS WHERE WE DELVE INTO TERRITORY THAT IS BOTH TANTALIZING AND MAKES US HATE OURSELVES
> 
> (or maybe it's just me)


	4. all the eye can see

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a thousand years late, but here I am. Also, I legitimately just spent about an hour trying to think of a chapter title. I hope you're satisfied.
> 
> (maybe if I yell loudly enough, the canon won't actually affect this story)
> 
> Warning: a scene of body horror

 

Katrina moved to the stable, hoping her slow, casual pace would dissuade Abraham from storming out and locking her up in punishment. No matter how much she ached to, she did  _not_  go to the road or the forest fringing the property. She walked to the stables, because she could feel his eyes on her back, trailing her every step.

Katrina heaved open the doors to the stable, and raised her lantern high. She saw the torches nuzzled against the wall, and carefully began to light them. The wards stopping her magic were not as strong out at the stables, but they were still strong enough to grate against her skin when she attempted to light them by magic. She held her breath, then moved deeper into the stables. The Horseman's mount stood in the middle of the stalls, watching her with lazy, burning eyes. She walked closer, though, and set her lantern on a shelf. The horse kept its eyes on her, and Katrina realized that they glowed faintly in the dark.

"Hello, there," she murmured, holding her palm out to the horse. It huffed in warning, and turned its head. She gave a soft sigh, and shifted to meet its eyes.

"I just wanted to say hello," she said, keeping her voice light and free of guile. "I mean, we've met several times, but never actually been formally acquainted."

The horse let out another harsh breath, its red eyes focused on the wall. But the beast stayed still, so Katrina reach out, and put a firm hand on its side. It flinched, but did not pull away again.

"I'm sorry, did I surprise you?" she asked, moving her hand to its cheek. The horse stared at her, seeming confused by her attention, but ready to listen.

"You don't really get to see many people, do you?" she continued, stroking its head and weaving a little magic into her voice. It wasn't much, but it made the horse stay still. "That's alright, I'll be able to come here and speak to you, as often as you want."

Katrina took its head in both hands, forcing it to look at her straight on. She blew her scent into its nose, so that it would remember her, and that it could not escape the magic lacing her breath. The effort made her a little light headed, but she was rewarded with the horse shifting, and sighing out a clover-sticky breath. Now that the hostile front was gone from it, the horse appeared eager to display its beauty and might to her, as though she had not noticed before.

"I was wondering where you were," Abraham said from the stable doors. Katrina started, jerking her hands away from the horse. She smoothed her skirts as she faced him, and tried not to look guilty.

"I just—I wanted to stretch my legs, and I—I've never really, er…" Katrina licked her lips, then met his gaze. She couldn't read his expression, and it didn't change as he came closer.  
"It's a great beast, isn't it?" she asked, hoping to get a different reaction. He clapped the horse on the neck, and didn't look at her for a long moment. Katrina made herself not hold her breath, suddenly away of the faint breath of magic still in the air. If he caught her now, whispering spells to his horse…

"He truly is," Abraham agreed, turning to look at her. He didn't say anything for a long moment, in which Katrina could only shift back, remembering how softly he had brushed her skin with his lips. And, of course, how brutally he had hacked into men's chests with an axe.

"You—you ride him at night, yes? I mean, to exercise him when not—to keep him fit?"

"Yes," he murmured, giving nothing away. It was like they were both waiting, trying to see if he should be Abraham, or the Horseman. Katrina offered a hopeful smile, and said, "Then, could I possibly join you? Not always, but on occasion…just go riding with you?" She needed more time to work small magicks on the horse, and any chance to explore the grounds was reasonable enough to her. Abraham smiled, then, and gave a slight nod.

"Surely something can be worked out. But I don't recall you being much of a horsewoman."

Katrina gave a shy shrug, because she had never been overly bothered with horses. She could ride reasonably well, but she had never spent much time around the stables when engaged to Abraham. She much preferred the steady, heavy hoofed beasts of burden found on farms, than the sleek and supremely delicate things the nobility insisted upon.

"A change now and again can't be amiss. And…" she hesitated, turning toward the horse like she was embarrassed, "I wouldn't mind…you're different with him. Steadier, so focused on his wellbeing."

 _When not charging him into battle,_  she thought darkly. The horse nickered, and cast her a reproving look.

"It…it's not a side of you I'm accustomed to," she finished, looking at her hands. Abraham continued to watch her, then said softly, "We'll go riding tomorrow, if you'd wish."

Katrina gave him a quick, bright grin, then took a step back from the stall.

"I had better turn in, then. I want to be well rested for tomorrow. And I still need to find another blanket, the nights have been getting cold. I can feel it cooling, even now."

Katrina knew she was babbling, but it was all spurred by her breathless good luck at not having been caught. She felt Abraham watch her go, then turn back to brush his horse.

* * *

_Katrina moved through the forest. She was moving fast, her feet seeming to only skim the ground. The trees were dark and rustling around her, but they didn't so much as touch her big, black wings. It was like they were humming to her, a much sweeter sound than in Purgatory._

_She continued for a while, almost giddy in her freedom, until she noticed the trees move. They shifted from a quiet rustling to ragged, jerky movements, as if waving her away. Katrina stopped, confused, but then she heard them; pounding footsteps, made heavy by the sins of the owner. The Horseman._

_She hurried, but now that she wanted to go fast, her legs slowed, stiff and strange. Katrina gasped in horror as the forest floor snarled around her feet, holding her back for him. She choked on a shriek, scared he would find her that much faster, but then she **felt** him, felt him right there behind her._

_A hand grabbed onto her dress, yanking her back and tearing the scream out of her mouth. Her wings thrashed, wanting to hurt him as much as escape from him._

_He wheeled her around, and Katrina felt herself freeze in horror when she saw the grotesque thing that was his neck, severed and bleeding. She could see his spine, and the spot where his throat ended, dark and terrible. She didn't remember this, she didn't want this, she didn't want the stale air of **death**  poured into her face._

_The Horseman forced Katrina onto the ground, knee on her stomach. The forest was in a frenzy, now, heaving at the fear in her screams and the brutality of his silence. Katrina clawed at the ground, like she could gouge an escape for herself, but the earth refused to move, her wings refused to find her safety._

_Then the Horseman had a hatchet in his hand, and she was nearly sick when he stretched her wings out flat. He raised the hatchet high. Katrina **screamed**  as he brought it down, her entire body unable to move, but rebelling, just the same._

_Feathers were in the air, some fine and whole, others severed or coated in blood. Agony lanced up through the rest of her body, lightning bolts of pain sparking out from her precious, precious wings. Katrina wished she could fight him, but he was too strong, too fast, each rough, brutal stroke tearing a bit of her apart and making blood soak through her dress and hair. She felt so, so cold._

_The Horseman leaned back from his gruesome work, holding the limps wings up like a trophy. He seemed to be smiling at her, like he was telling her this was all for good._

Katrina gasped awake, fists tightening around her blankets. She was curled up tight, and she thought at first it was in response to her inability to move in the dream. Then she realized it was  _cold_ in the room, winter's chill creeping in a bit further.

She sighed and relaxed a little, then stiffened again. Abraham was there as well.

Katrina's eyes snapped open to find him in the doorway. He appeared to have just looked in, concerned at whatever sound she had made in sleep. She stared at him, wondering if the fear was bleeding into her eyes. Her anxiety abated somewhat when she realized he was no longer holding her truncated wings.

 _He never was,_  she reminded herself, and took another breath.

"Did you have a nightmare?" he asked, voice soft in the dark. She nodded.

"What about?"

"P-Purgatory," she lied, the word slipping so easily from her tongue.

"You've never cried out before," he noted, an unhappy expression tightening his features. Katrina's stomach would have tightened, had it not already been in knots. He knew about her nightmares?

"Are you cold?" he asked, nodding at the blankets she had clutched so tightly around herself.

"I—er—it's a little cold. Probably just…I'll be fine."

"Would you like me to stay?" he asked, eyes concerned. Katrina swallowed, wanting suddenly to crawl inside that soft compassion and just soak away the doubts and fears she had been steeped in for  _far_  too long.

She hesitated, which Abraham took as quiet confirmation. He walked deeper into the room, ignoring her almost fearful gaze. He had shed most of his layers, his coat and waistcoat left in some other room.

Abraham stopped by her bed, and then reached out to touch her head.

"You're cold," he said. Katrina shrugged again, and this time, managed some words.

"I-I'm fine. I'll warm up alright."

"May I stay here, to warm you?" He paused, body rebelling at the thought of him being so near after her nightmare, but also leaping at the chance to finally chase the cold from her limbs.

Katrina gave a single, tight nod.

Abraham nodded back, and sat down. He carefully pulled off his boots, then, to her shock, tugged off his shirt. He felt her pull away from him, knew she as fearing the worst, and he looked at her. Katrina sucked in a breath when she saw the almost cold efficiency of the Horseman staring back at her, saying that this was the most practical way to warm her. Neither one said anything as he set his boots neatly at the end of the bed and draped his shirt over the back of a chair. Then he was back, pulling away the blankets and climbing inside.

Katrina couldn't meet his eyes at first, but instead focused on his chest. She didn't think about the gross impropriety he was again so casually committing ("despite his good breeding," some clipped, neat British accent told her from an age past), or the stark threat it posed to her. Instead, Katrina looked at the scars lacing his skin, all slight and a few shades lighter than the rest of his chest. Katrina wondered how many had been given to Abraham, and how many dealt as killing blows to Death.

Eventually, she forced herself down beside him, facing the opposite wall. Even his breathing was unearthly quiet, but she could feel every heartbeat, every muscle twitch. Katrina closed her eyes.

* * *

Katrina woke, but kept her eyes shut. She had no idea what time it was, but she knew for a fact that the bed was warm and so soft beneath her. She had the vague sense of having forgotten a terrible dream, one that had seemed to stretch on for centuries. Katrina frowning, trying to recall it, curious as to what made her feel such relief. Something about the dark, a murky forest, perhaps, and then…feathers?

She dismissed them from her mind, preferring to settle a little deeper into her bed, to focus on the comfortable press of Ichabod's shoulder against her back. If the dream had been that awful, she really had no need to remember it.

A horse nickered near the house. Katrina opened her eyes. The horses were kept on the other side of the house, as was the road. So why…?  
Ichabod shifted beside her, groaning slightly.

His voice was wrong.

And then she remembered, the peaceful illusions cracking neatly around her. Katrina was once again the Horseman's prisoner, not the content wife of one Ichabod Crane, left to pursue life as a housewife and secret magical supporter of General George Washington. And it was the Horseman that lay beside her, there with the purpose of helping chase away the cold. A grim slash of a smile appeared on her face. It had been nice while it lasted, but so bitter when gone.

Katrina clenched her hand by her face, forcing herself not to do something foolish. She was thankful Abraham hadn't touched her in the night, hadn't reached out to her, wrapped his arms around her and forced her close. He had instead maintained a polite distance, there to keep her warm, and that only.

"What was he saying?" she asked after a moment, certain Abraham was awake. Sure enough, he gave an empty laugh, almost a sigh.

"He's complaining I didn't have an apple for him last night."

"Oh?" Katrina blinked, surprised to hear something so  _mundane_  to have come from such a fearsome creature. She suppressed a slight laugh at the image of Death's horse being quite a fussy little thing. When not being terrifying, and riding enemies down, of course.

"Yes." Abraham sat up, making the bed shift. Katrina finally brought herself to watch him. He was leaning over to grab his shirt from the foot of the bed.

"Were you warm through the night?" he asked, slipping his shirt over his head.  
"Oh, yes, thank you. I was quite comfortable."

He looked back at her, expression serious.

"Good." Abraham nodded to himself as if satisfied, then walked to the door. "If you need anything else…"

"Of course, I won't hesitate to call," she assured him. Then, with a smile that was tied but sincere, she said, "Thank you, Abraham. Really."

He nodded again, and smiled back at her. Looking at that smile, she could almost forget the phantom pain of the nightmare.


	5. your lips red from death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's been a while. I was just really stuck with this chapter, because I wrote what I wanted to happen, but it just seemed so short! It was strangely difficult for me to flesh things out. But I promise, things are going to be picking up speed in all of the best and worst ways, so just hold tight ;)

__The days were getting shorter, but Katrina made full use of what little sunshine she could grab hold of. She stole little moments of open windows, her hand extended to feel the golden warmth. Her baths were taken with the door locked and the shutters thrown wide. She had no fear or someone looking in, and even if Abraham burst in, the swathes of sunshine would hold him long enough for her to get away.

Most of all, she pushed the time when she went to visit the Horseman's mount. It wasn't much, a few minutes here or there, but she would go before sunset, willing her body to soak up the light. She would watch the forest quickly darken from within the stable, brushing the beast's coat, or feeding him an illicit carrot. Sometimes, once the sky was suitably dark, Abraham would join them, wordlessly coming to stand by Katrina. The hair on the back of her neck stopped raising at his approach, but any time he drew too near, Katrina's skin prickled. And yet, some part of her longed for human contact. She had almost forgotten what another person's skin felt like, and so it jolted her, but also thrilled her whenever his fingers brushed her elbow, or pushed a strand of hair back into place.

(she tried not to think about it too much.)

And then the day would be gone, and Katrina would be left in a frigid darkness. They were her old friends, by now. They would leave her for a time, alone with her thoughts and the sunshine, but then they would come back in full force, asking her why she thought they had ceased to exist.

Abraham helped, somewhat. He brought her candles and lanterns, and provided thick blankets and, of course, shared his warmth with her on especially cold nights. Sometimes, he would take her riding and spite them both. Katrina would wear her warmest dress and wrap herself up in a blanket, and settle in against Abraham's chest as they went through the woods, fields, and over the occasional creek. And sometimes, when they went especially fast, or crested a particularly beautiful scene, a laugh would escape Katrina, and it would be real.

But on most nights, like together, Katrina was stuck inside of the coach house. She distracted herself however she could, with books and sketching and all sorts of little busy work, but it was not always enough. Her mind had become especially adept at wandering.

Katrina gazed out of a window, which had been opened once the sun had finally set. She traced the arm of her chair with a finger, as though the whorls in the wood could carry her someplace else.

Word had come from one of Abraham's men—one of the Witnesses had been injured. Not gravely, but enough to force them to go to ground. But how bad was 'not gravely'? Was it merely a severe burn or cut, or a broken bone? Had one of them lost a limb entirely?

Here, Katrina pulled herself back, but the thought still lingered. That was a truly terrible thing about her seclusion, not knowing what went on beyond the property line. She relied on what Abraham told her, and what could be extracted from the Hessians or Jeremy. Yet even that stream had dulled to a trickle. The Hessians stayed only long enough to report or do a requested task, and Jeremy hadn't appeared at the coach house for days. The Horsemen still conferred, she could hear Abraham addressing him behind his closed bedroom door. Katrina assumed they were using the mirrors, though she couldn't imagine what would suddenly make Jeremy stay away.

"Do you miss being able to do magic?" Abraham suddenly asked her, making Katrina tear her gaze from the window. She flashed a light smile, then stared at the ceiling.

"Yes. You can't imagine…it is almost like singing a song. My heart craves it, though my head knows I do not  _need_  it, not really."

"It gives you joy?"

"Yes. I feel content, buoyed up, almost. And when it's gone…well, it takes some getting used to. I'm fine, though," she added quickly, forcing a smile to her face.

Katrina stood up and walked past him to the book shelf, hoping to slide out of the conversation. It didn't feel like a trick, like he was trying to get her to let something slip, but it was always wise to practice caution.

"Is there anything else that you find joy in?"

"Of course," she said, coming to a stop before the book case. She looked back at him as she spoke. "Reading, for one. Taking long walks, spending time with children, exploring the outdoors…"

Katrina could hear him come nearer, his steps strangely slow, echoing across the floor. She turned back to the book case, and gave a slight shrug to illustrate her point, even though they both knew the thought of being able to do magic made her bones buzz.

"So, you see, there's really quite a lot to keep me distracted," she continued, pulling a book off of the shelf at random. Katrina could feel him behind her, quiet as she spoke. Every inch of her skin seemed to be on high alert, ready for anything now that she had her back turned. When Abraham spoke, it was much closer than she had anticipated.

"I think it's more than a distraction, if it gives you joy," he told her, voice a gentle brush against the back of her neck.

"Oh?" she breathed. Abraham may have grunted out a response, but she couldn't hear him. She squeezed her eyes tight because she knew where things were going, and part of her was trying to prepare, but then she kept snatching the thoughts back, refusing to believe it would actually happen, faster and faster until she couldn't think straight—

Abraham ran his hand through her hair, brushing it away from her neck. Katrina swallowed and tried not to hunch her shoulders as his touch turned from a light brush to something heavier. Then, Abraham pressed his lips to her neck. Katrina sucked in a breath as he kissed her again, the touch firm. He pushed her forward into the bookcase, the shelves pressing into her ribs and her hips, pinning her in place. Katrina clenched her hands around a shelf as Abraham kissed her harder, mouth wandering farther along the side of her neck.

Then suddenly he was turning her around, pressing her back against the shelf and kissing along the cord in her neck, down to the hollow of her throat. One hand was against her back, while the other was wrapped around his fist, clenched against her hip. Katrina swallowed, grabbing hold of his coat in an attempt to anchor herself, because her legs felt weak and her head light and she didn't know what to do, or how to respond, or where things were going to go from there. All thoughts of turning his affections to her advantage had disappeared, as a blank fear filled her stomach and froze her in place.

Abraham kissed Katrina on the mouth. It wasn't aggressive, or careful, is was  _desperate_. It was him grabbing up whatever he could before the moment ended, before she turned away, became cold and difficult once more.

Katrina held her breath, and softened her grip on his coat, instead pressing her hands into his sides. At the touch, he relaxed, as if reassured she would not try to flee. Abraham held her closer, not holding her in place, but truly embracing her. A hand was winding through her hair, and his kisses became slower, teasing her mouth—

Katrina gave a gasp, and turned her head away. She couldn't do it, she couldn't play this game, not yet, not with such reckless and destructive abandon. Thoughts of Ichabod were springing into her head, causing guilt to churn in her stomach, but there was also doubt and frustration and uncertainty and dread as to where this would all end, if she actually did manage to keep it up.

Abraham fell still, panting slightly. He was still holding her, but his grip had loosened somewhat. She let go of him. Even though her back hurt from the bookshelves digging into her, she pulled back into them a little more, trying to find some room to think.

Abraham took his hands away from her, but didn't step back. Katrina took the opportunity to get away, needing clear air, even if it meant she had to claw her way back into open space. Her eyes were stuck on the floor, but when she reached the doorway, she couldn't help but look back. Abraham was leaning against the book case, bracing his hands on the shelf.

She slipped into her room, and closed the door. Katrina sank to the floor, and wrapped her arms around her knees. Her hands shook the entire time.

A couple of days passed, in which neither one of them mentioned what had happened. Even though frost was consistently lacing the ground each night, Abraham made the wise decision to stay away from her room. A distant part of her missed the warmth he offered, but the rest of her was on its hands and knees in relief. Katrina strongly doubted that he would push her to do anything she would not want to do, but it was certainly not something she wanted to have to test.

She felt herself drifting through the hours, again feeling his lips on her skin, and again feeling  _sick._ What she was doing was  _not right._

And yet. She had remained at the coach house to manipulate Abraham's feelings for her, to use them to the Witnesses' advantage. As far as she could tell, that was exactly what she was doing, with alarming success. She had known full well what this might entail, had walked into it with open, determined eyes. She just hadn't anticipated it making her feel so  _wretched_ , though.

What was worse, Katrina didn't know if her stomach was twisted around itself because she had allowed another man to kiss her, or because all of his affections were being fanned by a lie.

But that was the only weapon available to her, she reminded herself time and time again. Her magic was stifled, her communication hampered, her allies sealed off. The only thing she could do, in all honesty, was to push on, to grab up what she could with a vicious ferocity and not let it go until she had used it best as she could. And she may not be able to commit wholeheartedly at the moment, but she would learn her limits and Abraham's, and she would grow until she could be the hardened weapon this war needed her to be. Katrina hated herself for the reality of it, but it was exactly what she had enlisted herself to do when she had forced Ichabod to leave her be.

So, as soon as she could get to her feet and not feel her legs shake, she left her bedroom. It was dark in the house, and a stubborn draft managed to wind its way through all of the rooms. They were both warnings she refused to let herself take.

Abraham had left not long after sunset, saddling his horse and cantering into the forest. He was simply going for the sake of the ride, attested by his lack of coat and weapons, but Katrina still felt the thrill of dread when she saw him go.

She waited in the parlor for what felt like hours. Katrina tried thumbing through a book, attempted brushing her hair, straightening the room the best she could, but she could not settle on anything. Her gaze kept dragging back to the window, waiting to see the ghostly shape of the Horseman and his mount returning.

Eventually, he did. Katrina licked her lips and took a breath, then walked to the front door. She waited for him, standing in the doorway despite the harsh edge of cold the air carried. Katrina wrapped her arms around her, waiting, waiting, waiting.

When he appeared from the direction of the stables, Katrina simply watched him, not moving an inch. He came to stand in front of her, expression not giving anything away.

"Abraham," she began, trying to force out words she could barely fathom, "I—I did not mean—the other day, it was just so—I  _can't,_ because Ichabod—and I—"

She cut herself off, and dragged in another breath. She looked down, trying to buy herself time. He waited, silent and imposing, a force of nature wrapped up in the form of a man.

Katrina took hold of his hand in both of her own. She kept her eyes on it, clasping it like it was the last life line she would ever know. She pressed their hands against her chest, holding them dear to her as she closed her eyes.

He started drawing his hand back, and Katrina opened her eyes, initially confused, terrified that this was a rejection, that she had failed, he had seen through her, he knew exactly what she was above. And then he pressed her fingers against his lips, silently telling her that she was truly precious. She tried speaking when he pulled his lips away, but his smile kept her quiet. It told her that this was fine, that it would be their secret, that there was no rush.

That night, when he lay beside her and an impassable swathe of blankets lay between them, Katrina could not let herself fall asleep. She kept seeing his face after he had kissed her hand. For the first time in so long, Abraham had looked happy. And the reason made her want to vomit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly feel really awkward at initiating romance of any sort. I'm more of a slow burn kind of person, but since this is not really a slow burn type of thing, I have a very difficult time getting to the point where they can actually GET to the romance, unhealthy and not good as it may be.
> 
> With that said, I really enjoyed seeing Katrina's headspace here. Like, I've been kicking around it for a while now, but now the denial is gone and she is well and truly sickened by the game she plays. Now, we just have to wait for it to stop being a game (hueh hueh hueh)


	6. stripped to the bone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of ambiguous feelings about the Horsemen and their horses. In the simplest terms...their souls have kind of melded, so they know what the other is feeling, and in some instances, thinking, but it is a very messy, empathetic link.
> 
> (this is where I say fuck canon they had no idea what they're doing with my baby Katrina, so I'm going to take permanent custody of her and, you know, actually do something productive :) )

* * *

Nothing significant changed about Katrina's life, now that she had permitted something more between her and Abraham. She had initially felt a squirm of dread at encouraging his affection, but he had maintained a suitable distance with her. He never did anything overt, but it was that exact fact that made her feel odd. He was a man of grand gestures, and yet there was such a mild sense of contentment whenever he wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger, or ran a ribbon on her skirt through his fingers.

More than that, the absolutely  _tenderness_  of these moments shocked Katrina. There was a softness in his eyes that was just  _Abraham_ , as he might have been had she gone along with everyone else's plan. And, on some days, that combination of simplicity and affection led Katrina to think what life would have been like, had she followed everyone else's plan. Marrying him, being the mistress of luxurious properties, attending all of the social gatherings of the Season, she could have handled it. If she had known that it wouldn't be simply well-intentioned but ultimately misdirected ostentation, if she had known there would be quiet moments like this…

Katrina's heart broke every time she let herself think that way, because she probably could have been content with him. But she hadn't wanted contentment, she wanted  _happiness._

And then her heart would break again, as she noticed the ugly scars on his neck, or catch sight of a gun or an axe. Then he would not be Abraham, it was Death stroking her hair, or running his thumb over her cheek. Death, the monster that had consigned her to Purgatory, killed numerous allies and friends, held her hostage by any means.

Katrina had to take a few breaths after that.

Once, he caught her disgruntled look at remembering. He frowned into her face, eyes holding the ghosts of suspicion.

"It's nothing, truly," she said, flashing him an unhappy smile. She had learned that half a lie was far better than a whole one, with him. "I would not want to bother you with details."

"Nonsense. I must know if I can help."

"It's nothing, I just…I would like to once more walk out into the sun with you. Our nightly ventures are pleasant enough, but I…miss the sun."

"I knew exactly what I was willing to give up for you," he said seriously. His hand was heavy over hers. "My only regret is that you are forced to give these things up as well."

Katrina reached out and touched him on the cheek.

* * *

Katrina brushed down Abraham's horse, loving the sound of his quiet murmur. She had progressed beautifully with him, and fully relished the fact that she could enter his stall freely.

She had wanted a few minutes alone with someone who would listen, and her spell was now powerful enough to limit his communication with the Horseman. She could whisper secrets into the beast's ear without Abraham finding out. Eventually, she would be able to coax secrets  _out_  of the horse, but Katrina knew the virtue of going slow, especially in so dangerous a venture.

Today, however, she was just there to give him attention. He seemed to preen under her gaze, standing a little taller as she worked down one side of his coat.

"Don't you feel the cold?" she asked him. "I feel it all the time, especially when I come out here. But you're worth it," Katrina promised, lips quirking at his indignant huff. She walked around to his other side, thinking.

"I used to  _love_  playing in the snow as a child. I'd scoop it up and toss it into the air, and dance around. Can you imagine that?"

He shuffled, bobbing his head as if uncertain. Katrina laughed, and then her hand slowed.

"Sometimes," she continued, voice catching, "sometimes I wonder if my son, Jeremy, Henry, the Horseman of War, I wonder if he ever played in the snow, if he ever played at all. He just…he seems so hard. And lately, I haven't even seen him at all."

Katrina frowned at the horse's pelt, suddenly taken with thoughts of her son. For whatever reason, he was staying away. And as much as seeing him stung, being without him made her throat close up. Concern and dread curled up in her throat if she let herself think about it too long, so she closed her eyes. When she spoke again, her voice was light with teasing.

"Did you ever play with any of your horse friends in the snow? Or have you  _always_  been so regal?"

"You're bound to swell his pride, that way," Abraham called from the door. She looked up at him, and gave a soft laugh.

"That'll be fine, though, right? You'd never let  _that_  get in the way," she said to the horse, running a hand down his neck. He huffed and shifted, agreeing with her.

"You've been coming out here a lot, lately," Abraham noted, stopping by the stall door. "Does this have to do with what we spoke of earlier?"

Katrina's mind flicked to her half true complaints about not being able to go into the sun, then she shook her head.

"No. I simply don't want him to feel lonely," she said. She picked up a blanket and draped it over the horse's back. "You don't ride him as much in the cold."

"He doesn't like it."

"Oh?" Katrina asked, turning to look at the horse. "Well, aren't you glad for the stables?"

She picked up her brush and lantern, then stepped out of the stall. She closed the door, but lingered to give him one last stroke on the nose.

Abraham shifted closer, pressing into her back.

"It's snowing," he murmured, making Katrina smile.

"It is? When did it start?"

"Just before dark."

Katrina savored the warmth from Abraham's body, the heat from his hand on her waist. She had learned to be comfortable with this, to stand steady and wait for him to move away.

Abraham turned her face, and kissed her on the side of the mouth. Her hand fell from the horse's nose, steadying her with a grip on the stall door as he kissed her again.

This was not like last time. Last time, he had been desperate, rough and reckless in his hope for just one moment of affection. When he had been certain she would comply, however, he had softened. This time, Abraham was grabbing up what she offered with open hands.

Abraham turned her fully, his body bracing against hers. He kissed her hard, mouth grating against hers. He had her pressed flat against the stall door, making her stay within his reach, even though she wasn't trying to move away. Abraham's hands dug into her hips, promising bruises in the shape of his fingertips.

His teeth closed around her bottom lip, making Katrina drag in a breath. She felt his horse shuffle behind them, then turn away.

Abraham stopped, almost as abruptly as he had begun. He pulled his mouth away, but his hands were still clamped around her hips. They both panted for breath, and Katrina tried very, very hard not to panic over that  _onslaught._ She swallowed back the tremors going through her, and looked at Abraham.

He was staring at his horse. It was not a friendly stare.

Katrina shivered, seeming to remind Abraham of the fact she was there.

"Why don't we go inside?" he suggested, stepping back and gesturing her toward the door. Katrina still felt a little shaky from the kiss, but she nodded, and walked with him to the door. When she glanced back at the horse, she saw that he was still facing the wall. His head was bent, as if in penance.

* * *

Katrina tiptoed through the house for the first little bit, unsure if Abraham would again try to tear the affection out of her. But he had returned to the way he had been before, mild in his gestures of adoration.

The snow continued to fall for the next couple of days. It was light, powdery stuff that dusted the ground and caught in her hair. Whenever Abraham saw this, he gave her a look that said she was the most beautiful thing in the world. Katrina finished reading all of the books in the house, and asked Abraham if his men could find more for her. He had smiled, touched her hand, and said of course. Things were back to normal.

And yet, she was still hesitant to return to the stables. Katrina finally forced herself out of the door, moving quickly through the cold. When she entered the stables, the horse gave a soft whinny, and stared straight ahead.

"Come, now," she whispered, trying to make him look at her, "I didn't upset you last time, did I?"

He murmured some evasive protest, and turned his whole body to avoid facing her. Katrina frowned, placed a hand on his side, and left. When Abraham asked her why she was back so soon, she shrugged.

"He did not seem interested in seeing me."

* * *

Katrina smoothed her thumb over the witch's glass, considering what she wanted to see. Picturesque images from her youth by now were boring, and there was no point in torturing herself by scrying Ichabod. But she craved the magic, needed it to punch through the dangerously comfortable rhythm of her life and clear her head.

Her mind wandered, drifting over the last few days, and settling onto the sudden distance between her and Abraham's horse. She thought about the last few things she had said to him, complimenting him, talking about the snow, mentioning Jeremy.

Katrina sat up straight. She had been right. It  _had_  been ages since she had seen her son. She knew she probably shouldn't, but her mind latched onto him and then the magic was flying through the air. Within moments, she saw Jeremy in the glass. He was turned away from her, working at some sort of table. Before she could figure out where he was, Jeremy straightened. He turned to look at her, a cunning smile on his face.

Katrina dragged in a breath as she watched him mouth words, and then suddenly she could hear him.

"Hello, Mother," he said, voice lazy as ever. "I was wondering how long it would take before you sought me out."

She opened her mouth to snap back, but then realized the spell he cast probably only worked one way. And what did he mean? Why was he waiting for her, was he trying to prove some point? Surely, there was no way this could validate any suspicions he undoubtedly had about her loyalty to the Witnesses. So why—

"When Abraham told me to stay away from his family home, I knew you would become distressed, but a man's home is the last place he had power, wouldn't you agree? And I thought it only right to respect his wishes."

Katrina stared at him, unsure what to say for a long moment. Abraham had forbidden him from coming to the coach house, that was why he had been absent for so long? But  _why_?

"Of course, I never thought he would take having you all to himself so seriously, but I'm glad to see we can still have our little chats, one way or another."

Katrina dropped the witch's glass. She wasn't sure if it slipped or she cast it away, but she heard it hit the table, and then fall to the floor with a heavy  _thunk._

She leaned over to pick it up, hands shaking slightly as they closed around it. The spell had broken, leaving an echo of magic in the glass. She suddenly felt sickened by it.

Abraham had kept Jeremy away. Because he didn't like her seeing him, or because he couldn't stand her being around him? Obviously, he wasn't worried about the negative influence her son could pose, no, it had to be uglier than that. This was—

"Katrina," Abraham called, voice light. She stood up, and set the glass on the table. Katrina walked to the center of the room as he came down the hall. She did not smile when she saw him.

"There you are," he said. Confusion was sifting into hot shock, making her breath come faster and the facts hum in her head. Something akin to  _betrayal_  was starting to form on her tongue, and Katrina knew it was unwise, but she also knew that she could  _not_  ignore it.

"Why have you been keeping Jeremy away from the coach house?" she asked, the words cutting through the air before she had time to think.

Abraham's expression fell into something dark. It was almost shocking, how quickly he could shift to displeasure. His eyes narrowed, and his mouth tightened just enough to remind her of a sneer.

"Why are you bringing this up now?" he asked, voice cool. The words ' _how did you know'_  hovered on his tongue.

"I scried him," she said, gesturing at the table where the witch's glass sat. She moved closer, even as Abraham's eyes flicked to the table. His expression soured further.

"You scried him?"

"Yes. And he told me that you  _ordered_  him to stay away. He seemed to believe—well, I don't know  _what,_ " Katrina said, challenging him, daring him to say the words aloud. Abraham's jaw ticked. Katrina did not step back.

"Why have you been keeping my son way from me?"

Abraham didn't answer, just stared at her.

"He's my  _son_ ," she continued. "You  _know_  what he means to me, what I hope to possibly gain. And yet you—"

"He has  _no_  intent in sharing what you are looking for."

"I'm well aware!" Katrina snapped. She stared at him for a moment, then whirled away. She stalked deeper the room, winding through furniture and giving herself space. Fiery indignation was catching in her belly, and she needed room to think, to breathe without spreading sparks.

"I was only aiming to keep you safe."

"By isolating me!" Katrina yelled, then fell still. She blinked, realization stumbling through her.

"That's it," she said voice soft, then getting much louder. "You've been  _isolating_ me, keeping Jeremy away. You have been keeping me all for  _yourself,_  doing everything to avoid having to share me with someone else!"

Abraham didn't say anything, just stalked toward her. Katrina quickly moved away, keeping half the room and a few pieces of furniture between them. His footsteps were punching into her, making her knees weak.

"And it hasn't just been with Jeremy, either," she continued, words coming out in a flurry, like she might never be able to say them again. "That's why your men have all but stopped coming here."

"I didn't need them," he said, voice tight.

"Didn't need me caring for anyone else!" she yelled at him, a slightly hysteric laugh cutting through the air.

Her hands were clenched on the back of a chair, though Katrina wasn't sure if it was to keep her upright, or from doing something stupid. Abraham stood alone, big and solid and too much to fight. Katrina knew she couldn't beat him, but she would certainly leave him bloody and bruised.

"Abraham, you can't just  _do_  this, you can't  _keep_  me here, stolen and secret! I  _chose_  to stay, I've  _proved_  I want to be here."

"Yes, as you are  _so_  quick to point out."

"Does my desire to stay mean  _nothing_?" she demanded, feeling a little stung. His hands were slowly flexing at his side, shadowing the action of grabbing an axe handle.

He wouldn't  _dare._

"Or do you think me so fickle, so  _shallow_  as to be ready to fling myself thoughtlessly at any attention presented?"

"It's nothing like that."

"Then what is it?!"

"You are  _mine,_  Katrina!" he yelled, hands clenched into fists, now. "Moloch set you aside for  _me,_  and I  _will not_  allow some—"

" _Moloch_ ," Katrina spat. " _Moloch_ does not control me, and you certainly do not choose how I live my life, now or ever! Is this some sort of preventive measure to keep from repeating what happened last time? Your haste pushed me to Ichabod, so now you are keeping me away from others, so you may do as you like with no fear of how I may react?"

Abraham grit his teeth, and he truly looked  _angry_  now, the cool edge of irritation breaking at the mention of the past. Katrina let out another harsh laugh, because it was a petty little victory that she cherished completely. It was also an incredibly reckless move, and absolutely terrified her.

"You don't even trust your  _horse_ ," Katrina scoffed, then her eyes went wide when she realized what she had said. Abraham's expression closed off at that, saying she was exactly right. She glanced down, gave another laugh to show how not scared she was, tried to not let the truth knock her over. When she spoke, her words were slow and shaky, but she saw just how they sank into his chest.

"You are so  _paranoid_  as to doubt your own horse, a creature that is practically a part of your own _soul_. It explains why you were so quick to join me whenever I visited him! It was all to make sure that my bond with him never outweighed the one with you!"

That was why he had kissed her in the stables, aggressive and bold and right in the horse's face. That was why Abraham had looked him right in the eye, silently saying  _she is mine._

"Well?" she demanded. "Do you deny it?"

"What does it  _matter,_ " he ground out, teeth clenched around the words. Katrina let out sound of disbelief, part shocked huff, part indignant shriek.

"What does it— _this is my life!_ " she screamed at him, grabbing a vase and hurling it at him. It sailed perilously near his head, but Abraham didn't even flinch. He stalked toward her, but Katrina moved with him, keeping the distance between them.

"This is you  _stealing_  my right to decide, because you selfishly,  _arrogantly_  believe that I cannot be trusted to make these decisions on my own!"

She flung a book at him next, needing something more, something else to let out the righteous fire in her lungs.

"How  _dare_  you! This is my  _life,_ " she repeated, tears forming in her eyes, now. "I refuse to let you control it!"

Abraham cut the distance between them, ignoring the things flying through the air. Katrina kept backing away, grabbing a heavy book end and hurling it at his head. He caught it, the sound flat and hard in his hand. He slid his eyes back to her, expression of complete ice.

She stared at him, panting and sensing that this was a line she was  _not_  supposed to cross. Katrina whirled on her heel, and stalked to her bedroom.

"Don't you  _dare_  follow me!" she yelled, slamming her bedroom door shut.

The Horseman's heavy gait reached her ears, and Katrina shoved herself away from the door. She faced him as he knocked the door back open, glaring full force as he stormed in. Katrina hated the way she backed up toward the wall, but his presence threatened to crush her into the floor.

Abraham slammed her against the wall, holding her up so that her feet left the floor. He pinned her there with his body, hand clenched around her jaw.

Abraham kissed her, hard and angry. He forced his lips against the corner of her mouth, and she knew it was meant to hurt. He pulled his face back, but still pressed against her, keeping her in place, keeping her helpless. His eyes  _dared_  her to try yelling at him again.

He let go of her, roughly letting her drop. Katrina gasped as her feet hit the floor, but forced herself to stay upright. The Horseman was already stalking out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always known what direction I wanted this story to go in (which was 'not good'), but while writing this chapter, all I could think was 'This is not good. I am writing a not good thing. This is not good'. It was needed to reaffirm that noooooooothing about any of this in any way is healthy, but igh.
> 
> (The kiss in the stables feels very perverse to me. I'm not sure how I feel about physical affection used as a powerplay against animals. I mean, I know the context. But still. That's what he did. Just let that sink in.)


	7. a crow flew by

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out to all of those people who were asking me to continue this story during the huge break. you know what kind of awful you're after.

The days felt like tar passing over Katrina's skin. Each one was slow, painful, heavy, and oppressive and almost too much to bear. Every night Abraham took up his silent post beside her in bed, and every day she studiously avoided him.

Silence was the definition of the coach house. Silence and the staunch war of wills she was never entirely certain she would win. The Horseman's steps echoed through the coach house, and Katrina's unruly resentment whispered after. She didn't speak, not to him or his horse or herself, and he never attempted to make her.

 _This_  was what Katrina thought Death's domain should be like. Eerie, quiet, miserable.

And then, one day he walked into her room. Katrina stabbed him with her gaze, waiting to see what he wanted. He wasn't wearing the weapons, or the coat, or the trappings of a traitor. He was not dressed for battle.

Abraham stepped closer to her chair and stopped before her.

"I believe I have found a solution to our predicament," he said. Katrina deigned to look at him a second more, then glared at a wall.

"You crave magic, and I…require your aid."

Katrina waited. She had become  _so_  dreadfully good at that, these last few hundred years.

"Your magic proved helpful last time we used it. That again could be used to benefit our cause. And if you agree…you will be able to use it whenever you wish."

Katrina looked back at him, begrudgingly interested. Abraham considered her for a moment and then settled on his knees next to her.

"Katrina," he murmured, like he was stroking her face with the words, "I wish to help you. Your happiness…"

He looked up at her with genuine pleading in his eyes. Katrina's mouth twisted as she looked at him, still refusing to let out a sound.

It was a very strange thing, her situation. Here she had Death on his knees, and yet she felt so very not in control.

He reached out, hesitant, and took ahold of her hand.

"Please, Katrina. Let me make you happy."

She swallowed, and let in a breath.

"What is this  _solution?_ " Her words were formed entirely out of bitterness.

"It is a ritual," he began, and instantly Katrina felt her expression darken, images of being turned into whatever ungodly creature  _he_  was flashing through her mind. " _Not_  the one I had in mind before," he amended, "but a new one. One that will, ideally, suit both our needs."

"It would allow me the use of magic," Katrina said, giving a slow nod, "but what about you?"

"You would…be bound to me. We would be united in a bond not often found in this world. We would gain power from each other, be influenced by each other. It is an alternate route," he said, leaning a little closer. "Rather than forcing you to become like me, to be beholden to me, Katrina, you would be able to  _choose_. You would be just as you are, free to think and feel as you always have. You would be my equal."

"Bound to you…what does that entail?"

Abraham tilted his head at the question, and for a moment, Katrina was certain she saw Death flash through those ice blue eyes. The hopeful tenderness slipped from his voice when he next spoke.

"We would share a limited number of powers. You would become stronger, be more difficult to kill, and I would become immune to your magic."

Katrina frowned, weighing the options. She could not curse him, even if she got the chance.

"And that is all?"

"I am not entirely certain of all the effects. It has never been attempted between such powerful beings like you and I."

Katrina looked down at their hands, still clasped together.

"Yes, Abraham," she breathed. It was difficult to meet his eye, but she did. "I will do it. I will be bound to you, and I will perform magic for you."

He broke into a truly pleased smile and straightened to his full height while still on his knees. Abraham reached out and pulled her into his arms. Katrina wrapped her arms around his neck, letting her fingers slide through his short blonde hair. She stared at the wall, feeling their hearts fight back and forth, pushing at her chest in turn.

There was something caught in her throat, and it sounded very much like  _'Ichabod'._

* * *

Katrina smoothed her palms over the trousers she had been lent for the ritual, trying to fight back her anxiety. Jeremy was there to perform the spell and seemed wickedly amused by it all. He at least had the grace not to comment on it to Katrina.

The silence, she had decided, was much worse. He had walked in, said hello, gave a mocking ' _it **has**  been a long time, hasn't it?'_, and that was it. Katrina eyed him down, wishing it would just be over. That way she would have less time to think about how she was marching head long into a terrible mistake.

"Please get on the table," Jeremy said, breaking the quiet. He gestured to the large table that had been cleared for the ritual. Katrina swallowed back her hesitations, then walked over. She glanced back, hoping to see Abraham at the edge of the room. Instead, she only saw the Horseman, arms tightly folded, mouth hard, eyes clinical. He was there to make sure she wouldn't try anything, not to reassure her.

Katrina climbed onto the table and laid down on her stomach, being careful to center herself over the diagram drawn on the top with chalk. The quick glimpses she stole of it mentioned stripping and then melting two souls together. Katrina pressed her cheek to the wood, and slid her eyes shut.

She gasped when she felt Jeremy pull up her shirt to reveal her lower back. Katrina dug her nails into the wood and kept silent. He spread oil onto her skin and whispered a spell over her. This time, the air didn't hum with his magic. Instead it became heavy with it, weighing down her thoughts and smothering her body. She focused on dragging in a breath and not that her son was condemning her to an unknown fate.

She was being bound to Death. The pointed memories of her attempted second burning came back to mind, clawing up all of the anxiety she had been ignoring. Those men had accused her of conspiring with the Horseman of Death, of giving up everything and becoming his  _pet._ She had been so desperate when she denied it,  _needing_  them to understand it all was a wicked farce. And now she was doing exactly what they claimed and she had no idea why.

Jeremy stopped whispering, but the oppressive feel of the spell continue to swirl about her head. Katrina grit her teeth as she stared at the door, wondering what was next, what was left. She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. This was okay, she was going to be okay,  _she would be okay._

Katrina bit out a choked yelp when she felt the burning pain on the small of her back. Death shifted, sliding into something a little more battle ready. Katrina clenched her fists, forcing the muscles in her back to relax as her son sliced magic into her skin. She tried to unclench her hands but found herself unable to move, frozen by the spell. Her heart was hammering, shrieking against her ribs as Jeremy continued, making long, arching lines on her flesh. Each figure, each mark carved into her skin was like being tied to the stake all over again. A part of her wanted to reach out and grab Death, to catch hold and shake him until Abraham appeared and saved her from the dysphoria seeping across her body. Then she gave up hopes of being rescued from the pain, all she wanted to do was cling on for dear life, because  _he_  at least would be steadfast while her whole world heaved around her.

Katrina closed her eyes, breath hissing in through her teeth. She couldn't take it anymore, she couldn't do it, she wanted to take it all back, she would give in to whatever chaos and darkness she was being sealed to if only the pain would  _stop_. Then Jeremy punctured her haze with a sharp word and  _something_ seared into the freshly carved seal on her back. She gasped out a shriek, the sound stifled between her teeth and her shock as her back arched with pain.

Instantly, she fell back, hands clutching edges of the table. All of the magic in the air drained into her, slinking in through the wound and making her blood snap and writhe against her bones. She was too agonized to even cry.

Abraham shifted back into view, and she saw with dull surprise that his hand was bleeding, a single black gash stretching across his palm.

His blood. It had been his blood that had been poured over her skin, to seep into the seal and complete the spell.  _That_  was how she would be able to do magic. His blood would grant her power. And would control her.

Jeremy murmured something above her, but Katrina felt herself drifting. She was vaguely aware of someone wiping off the black blood from her back, the new wound protesting, but not burning as it had moments before. Then the weightless feeling of being picked up, and then the solid comfort of her bed. She lay on her side, content to let her mind wander, to avoid the horror of today by stumbling into some world not soaked in despair.

She couldn't remember her dream, but she had the impression of cages and being bathed in blood. Whose, she refused to guess.

"Katrina," Abraham whispered, pulling her back into a reality that was not far off from the fantasy she had just escaped.

Katrina stirred, then grimaced when she felt her lower back throb. A sound must have escaped her, because Abraham's hands were there instantly, smoothing over her arm.

"It's alright," he murmured, voice right in her ear. "War said it would take several days to heal."

She tried to respond, but her tongue seemed dense and useless. Katrina grimaced again and cracked open an eye. Immediately she spotted a pitcher of water and tried to reach for it. Abraham obligingly picked it up for her and poured a cup. Katrina leaned against him, too exhausted to force herself upright as she drank.

"How—how long has it been?" she asked, voice raspy even after her drink.

"About a day. War said it would help you heal."

Katrina nodded, and hesitantly reached around to touch the seal on her back. Abraham settled his hand over hers, as if he understood the dread now living in her stomach. Katrina bit her cheek and took hold of his hand instead. She leaned her face against his chest, and closed her eyes.

"I appreciate what you have done," he whispered into her hair, then pressed his lips against her neck. It was a simple gesture, one that asked for nothing else.

Katrina pressed her lips tight as he settled his arms around her. Abraham held her close, like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Any tears that fell could easily be blamed on pain. And yet, none felt fit to leave her eyes. Katrina almost wished they had. That, at least, would have been right.

* * *

Katrina held tight to Abraham, teeth set on edge over what she was about to do. The freezing air bit at her nose and throat, bitter in the dark. She could feel the dark thrill going through him as they came closer to their goal.

When his horse came to a stop, Abraham lifted her down. She waited, nervous as she watched the house before them. He had only told her that an ally of the Witnesses lived there. She could feel the sleepy murmur of magic, something exposed to power but not necessarily containing it. Katrina glanced at Abraham, suddenly nervous. The need to do magic felt muted under her anxiety. She didn't want to hurt anyone, didn't want to hinder the Witnesses anymore. But there wasn't much else to do.

"I can't hurt anyone, I refuse," she said, watching Abraham heft a hatchet. He cast her a hard look. It wasn't unkind or annoyed, just hard. Her words had been water tossed onto a stone and splashing off, not a drop absorbed.

"Then keep them from leaving," Death told her, and stalked toward the cottage. Katrina bit her cheek, nervous as he faded into the murk. He learned back, supporting herself on Death's mount. He shifted, thinking about stepping away, about heeding his master's claim of dominance. But he stayed still and let her brace her hand against his flank.

Death kicked the cottage door from its hinges, eliciting screams from inside. Katrina sucked in a breath, feeling the prospect of death thrill through her, sick and agitating and intoxicating. Katrina's head swam as she felt Death stalk deeper into the cottage, cutting off a man's screams with a splash of blood. Katrina gasped, knees buckling slightly as she felt the blood on her hands and the seal on her back throb.

The horse shuffled against her, practically holding Katrina upright. His huffs of breath were loud in her ears, great smoky plums in the cold air. The vaguest whisper sounded in her head, sliding through her brain  _death blood faint witch_ as Katrina tried to right herself, tried to understand what was going on.

Gunshots punched through the air, painfully loud in her ears, louder than they should have been from outside of the house, offering senseless flashes of light in the dark. Katrina panted, completely disoriented, the image of a woman and child climbing through a side window swinging back and forth between her eyes.

She didn't think. Katrina could barely breathe, but she heard the quiet whisper very clearly, cutting through the haze of senses.

Fire erupted in a gruesome ring around the cottage, nearly igniting the woman and child. The child, a boy, shrieked in terror and the woman grabbed him, then prepared to leap through the ring.

The fire bit out at them, big and wild and hissing like animals. The woman yelled and staggered back, eyes frantic. She looked at Katrina, terrified.

" _Turn away,"_  Katrina told her, in the same harsh voice that had made the fire appear.

"He's going to kill us!" she screamed, holding the little boy tighter.

"Give him what he needs, and  _turn away._ " Katrina said. More gunshots from inside, more flashes of light that she could not see.

"I refuse to give it to him!" the woman screamed, clutching at something around her neck. Katrina raised her hands, another stream of magic tumbling from her lips. Her tongue felt heavy, fumbling, but each word was clear and sharp in the air before her.

Death stormed out of the cottage, broad axe now in hand. The boy screamed, clinging to the woman even tighter. The woman shoved the boy away, screaming at him to run, and after a few stunned steps the boy was sprinting along the line of fire. The woman was fumbling with something, a gun, then fired off two shots at Death. Katrina sucked in a breath at the phantom impact, watching Death's steps hitch. Then he settled into a more aggressive gait, axe raised high.

The woman turned the gun to Katrina, but a hand wave and a spark of flame reached out to burn the metal from her hands.

Katrina's second spell finished with a rush, and the thing around the woman's neck, a pouch attached to a cord, lifted away from her skin. She gasped and grabbed it back, then started running, clearly hoping for more time.

A hatchet sank into the woman's chest, the blade disappearing almost entirely to the shaft. The little boy screamed from where he was, flight forgotten as he let out a wordless scream. Death stalked over to her, steps shaking the ground. He pulled the pouch from her hand, and then tore the hatchet from her back. He strode back to the edge of the flames, which cleared for him. He mounted his horse, then lifted Katrina up behind him. Katrina let the fire fall away as they pounded down the road, hearing the little boy's shrieks, the whisper of Death's horse  _smoke fire tears blood death witch witch death,_ and the dull murmur coming from the cottage. Katrina was confused at first, whatever magic object they had come to fetch was in the pouch, then she realized.

It wasn't the magic rustling against her mind. It was the death.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less bad relationship stuff and more bad decisions/actions stuff this chapter, but just wait. Bad relationship stuff is coming. Boy howdy is it coming.


End file.
